


To Hell And Back

by rippedoutgrace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Underage!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:59:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippedoutgrace/pseuds/rippedoutgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A season 7 AU where Chronos takes Sam back in time instead of Dean, and tells him that he needs to know something. Something that will change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Hell And Back

**Author's Note:**

> This is the darkest, angstiest thing I've ever written. Please read the warnings! 
> 
> Dean is 16.

He and Dean had reached Chronos at nearly the same time, except Sam’s longer stride had him just a hair’s breadth closer to the god and when Sam grabbed his black coat, he felt the burning flash of light more than he saw it. He and Chronos landed in a back alley between two crumbling brick buildings and the ageless god took off running, leaving Sam lying on the damp concrete with a headache and a weird sensation of vertigo.

 

As Sam exited the alley pressing hard at his temples, he made his way somewhat unsteadily up the sidewalk looking for Chronos and he started to think he wasn’t in the same town as the one he and Dean had just been in. Shit. That threw a huge wrench into his plan of getting the hell back to 2012. He needed to find Chronos and figure out a way to hop a ride back to his year. A young couple holding hands brushed past him and he did a double take at the guy’s shirt. Was that a Nirvana t-shirt? Okay, he had to be at least in the nineties, though what a weird time for Chronos to jump to, he thought.

 

He kept walking down the street, passing an alarming number of people in flannel and women with scrunchies in their hair. At least he fit in okay on the flannel front. He really needed to find out specifically what year it was. And more importantly, where he was.

 

Ah, finally, he passed a newspaper stand. “How much for the paper, sir?”

 

The wrinkly old man sitting behind the half counter, exhaled his cigarette. “A quarter for the paper,” he rasped and held out the hand not currently clutching the cigarette between stubby fingers.

 

Sam dug around through his jeans, finding a quarter in his left front pocket and prayed the man wouldn’t notice the 2000 date mark on the coin. The man thankfully tossed the quarter into a cash drawer and threw the paper down. “Have a good one, kid.”

 

Sam nodded and grabbed the paper, eyes immediately going towards the top middle.

 

March 7, 1995. Sam frowned. When he had inadvertently hitched a ride with Chronos, it had been the middle of January. It took him a couple of flips around the paper to find out he wasn’t even in the same state anymore.

 

This was weird. Not at all how he understood Chronos to travel through time. Was there a reason he was here? Was there something important to the god in this town? Funny enough, the name of the town actually sounded familiar. Like he’d been here before, though he recognized nothing around here.

 

Until he saw a flash of brown. Brown leather to be exact.

 

“Dean?” Sam whispered. He started moving quickly, dodging people on the sidewalk and muttering apologies. Dean, if it was him, was walking in the same direction as Sam but on the other side of the street. He looked down the road and waved a hand in thanks when the only car coming toward him slowed marginally for him to cross.

 

By the time Sam crossed the street, Dean was nowhere to be seen and it was starting to get dark. Sam kept on, walking past the storefronts, but keeping an eye through the glass windows searching for that brown leather jacket. The one that Dean wore so often that it wasn’t really even Dad’s anymore. He reached the end of the block, but couldn’t see anyone but two women on the other side of the crosswalk. Dean had to be somewhere around here.

 

He turned in circles, running a hand through his hair, before leaning against a light post. Well, this was probably a good time to figure out what he was going to say to Dean. If it was March 1995, Dean had just turned sixteen two months ago, so Sam was just shy of his twelfth birthday. He couldn’t remember anything particularly interesting about that year. But he obviously looked a little different now and he doubted Dean would buy the time travel theory. They ran into crazy stuff all the time, but as far as he knew, Dean and Dad had never taken on anything like Chronos.

 

Sam was still working on a story to tell this Dean when he saw a brown leather jacket peeking out from between two buildings near the end of the row. He straightened and immediately started moving towards the figure, hoping and praying it really was him. Then he turned, and Sam nearly stopped in his tracks. It was well past dusk now, but the face was unmistakable.

 

For as long as Sam could remember, Dean had been larger than life. The summer he finally caught up to Dean in height, and later surpassed him, didn’t diminish how big his older brother always seemed to him. Now that he was staring at his brother, sixteen years old and swimming in their dad’s leather jacket, Sam was struck by the most absurd thought.  _He’s so delicate_.

 

Which was the most laughable thing Sam could ever come up with, really. Even at sixteen, Dean was an experienced hunter. Lethal, strong, and had already seen more crap than anyone his age had a right to. Dean was never  _delicate_.

 

But as Sam watched him pocket something and say something to someone in the alley, his brother looked small.  _Jesus, he’s just a kid_ , Sam kept thinking over and over again. Dean had never been a kid to him. Dean had been his mother, father, brother, caregiver, kisser of ouchies, and protector all rolled into one for Sam’s entire life. It was...unnerving, to say the least, to see Dean from such a different perspective.

 

Dean never turned to see Sam, but rather walked back the way he came up the street. Sam followed him at a discreet distance, loath to alert Dean to his presence yet. He had no way of predicting what Dean would do if he got spooked. A silver knife in his ribs seemed pretty likely, though maybe Dean would splash some holy water on him first and they could skip the life threatening injuries.

 

Sam was so focused on not losing sight of Dean that he was more than a little confused when Dean ducked into a store. As Sam followed him in, he realized it was a small Mom-and-Pop grocery store. He could see Dean, basket in hand, already making his way down the aisles towards the back refrigerated section.

 

He smiled politely at the teenager cashier smacking her gum as he too grabbed a basket, stopping in the canned goods aisle but keeping an eye on Dean in the back. Something was off about his brother. He seemed distracted.

 

The longer Sam watched him, occasionally grabbing at something off the shelf and throwing it in the basket without looking at it, he realized Dean was deliberately checking the prices of all the cartons of milk in the glass case. He picked up a full gallon jug, appeared to be checking the expiration date before he used his index finger to tap the price stuck on the shelf. He carefully put the full gallon back and grabbed a half-gallon carton, apparently much more satisfied with the price.

 

Sam followed at a distance, sometimes using his height to peer over the tall shelves to see where Dean was. Dean had the same routine with the bread and peanut butter as he did with the milk, finding the cheapest off brand products he could before putting it in his basket. Sam’s own basket was getting heavy with unwanted food items, but he had to see what Dean was doing. Couldn’t lose him now.

 

Dean’s progress was halted in the cereal aisle. Sam skirted around the corner, pretending to be fascinated with the nutritional information of Raisin Bran, while he watched Dean grab a box of corn flakes and then pause. He seemed to be deliberating over something, having an internal argument with himself. Sam didn’t remember Dean ever being particularly passionate about corn flakes, so this was odd.

 

It wasn’t until Dean put the box back and reached for the Captain Crunch that Sam realized what was happening. He didn’t remember how old he’d been, only that he’d been moody and grumpy about being stuck in the motel all day, when he got angry about having corn flakes every single day and complained how his friends had Captain Crunch every morning. He remembered Dean brushing off his comment with a casual “It’ll rot your teeth, Sammy. It’s all sugar, man.”

 

Apparently it was in 1995 and he’d been just shy of twelve and Sam knew how this was going to play out. Eleven-year-old him was going to wake up tomorrow morning with Captain Crunch in his cereal bowl and Dean looking on anxiously, but trying to hide it. Eleven-year-old him would thank Dean with a one armed hug and pretend not to notice Dean’s bright eyes and wide smile.

 

And eleven-year-old him was never going to know that his big brother stood in front of the cereal boxes, clearly mentally adding and subtracting what had to be a meager budget to make sure he could buy some stupid cereal for Sam.

 

While Dean was still debating with himself, Sam saw the flutter of a black coat to his right. He looked up into the face of Chronos.

 

“Hey!” Sam hissed, still trying to keep Dean from noticing him. “What the hell? Why did you bring me here?”

 

Chronos shrugged and tipped his hat off his head to mop at his brow. “You needed to know.”

 

“Know what?” Sam asked desperately, aware of Dean moving towards the cash register now. He prayed that the girl behind the counter would be cute enough to distract Dean for a few minutes so he could get some answers. “1995? Nothing happened in ’95.”

 

“Things happened this year, Sam. Things you would never know about if you didn’t see for yourself.”

 

That caused Sam to pause. “Is it Dean? Something happened to Dean? I don’t remember...” he trailed off, all of the sudden recalling the night Dean was late. Dean was  _never_  late. Sam had been ready to call Dad or Bobby or Pastor Jim and Dean still wasn’t back. He’d just stood up to get the phone when he heard the  _snick_  of the lock.

 

Sam frowned at Chronos. “Dean never told me what happened that night.” He remembered the limp and the bruises and split lip Dean tried to hide. He assumed Dean had gotten into a fight. Now he wasn’t so sure.

 

The god nodded, straightening his fedora and swiping at a bit of lint on his collar. “He wouldn’t have told you.” He looked right at Sam before gesturing in Dean’s direction. “That night is tomorrow night.”

 

“Am I supposed to stop it from happening? And once I do? Will you take me back to my own year?”

 

Chronos sighed as if Sam was being particularly dense. Kind of like how he sighed at Dean a lot. It was startling to see it aimed in his direction for once.

 

“No, Sam,” he said patiently. “You’re not supposed to stop it. You can’t stop it. It’s going to happen with or without you. Sam, you’re here as an observer only. You can talk to Dean if you want, but nothing you say or do will change the outcome of tomorrow.”

 

“But what about me? I mean, kid-me.”

 

“I suggest you do not tell either your younger version or your brother who you are. Time travel never goes over well with everyone else. But otherwise, it doesn’t matter.”

 

“And what about me now?”

 

“Yes, I’ll take you back to your year when it’s over,” the god snapped, starting to look annoyed. Again, weird to see that face directed at him.

 

And with that, Chronos disappeared before Sam could ask anything else. Great.

 

He heard the tinkling of the bell above the door and saw Dean with one foot outside, smirking at the blushing cashier. Sam realized he’d be here for another twenty-four hours and that thought had him grabbing a couple of things and rushing to the counter. He couldn’t lose Dean but he would need to eat if he was going to be here another day.

 

Thankfully, the girl was still far too flustered by his brother’s flirting to pay either Sam or his five-dollar bill much attention. He didn’t remember, but he’d bet all the bills looked different in 1995. He thanked her and got outside as quickly as he could, clutching his brown paper bag with a bunch of bananas, bread, and peanut butter. He’d have to make do with some sandwiches for a while.

 

Sam could see Dean holding his own brown bag between his hip and the crook of his elbow, walking to the end of the street and turning left. Sam kept following, now more than a little surprised that Dean hadn’t seen him yet. Dean was sharper than that usually, even as a kid. Sam almost wanted to reprimand him for being so careless. What if he had been some kind of monster? He assumed Dean was heading for the motel, leading Sam right along with him.

 

Dean never turned around.

 

The motel was exactly the kind Dad would have dropped them off at as kids. It needed a several coats of paint and probably an inspector for asbestos and toxic mold. He watched from a distance as Dean let himself into room 7. The corner room on the ground floor and as far from the manager’s office as it could be. Some things never changed.

 

Sam hefted the bag to one arm as he dug out his wallet. Credit cards were out of the question, but maybe he could pay with cash and hope the manager, like the newspaper man and cashier, would ignore the difference in Sam’s dollar bills. He figured he just enough cash to get a room for a night.

 

The manager matched the motel. He was pot-bellied and smelled like booze and cigarettes. His graying chest hair poked out from beneath his dirty white wife-beater shirt and he barely moved from his chair, watching pro wrestling on a tiny portable TV on his desk. Sam signed for the room as Carver Edlund, smiling to himself at his own private joke. He had nearly put down “Jim Rockford”, out of habit, but he had no idea if that was an alias that originated with Dad and that Dean knew about. Though Sam doubted Dean would ever see the ledger in the manager’s office, he didn’t want to alarm him just in case. Though Sam supposed he could have put something equally ridiculous, like Justin Bieber. Was that kid even born yet?

 

The manager handed Sam a key in exchange for the cash Sam handed him and grunted out, “Twelve.”

 

Sam could see the light on in the room his younger self shared with his brother as he made his way up the stairs on the other end. The balcony of the stretch of the second floor was chipped and peeling and Sam could see a couple of nails working their way up and out of the wooden planks. Room 12 was in the middle of the motel, and Sam tried several times to get the key into the lock without success.

 

“Damn it,” he mumbled, trying one last time. He leaned his head against the door and sighed. He could pick the lock but that would probably frighten any other guests that happened upon him any time he needed to get in the room.

 

He rolled the bag as tight as he could and stuffed it in the corner of the doorframe. It was now completely dark outside and he doubted anyone would notice the bag if they came across it in the few minutes it would take him to run downstairs and get a new key from the manager. As he turned around, he heard Dean’s voice waft up, sounding both young and tired.

 

“Sammy, I’ll be right back, okay?”

 

Sam heard the door shut and Dean’s heavy footsteps echo below him. Sam inched his way towards the stairs, not wanting to surprise Dean like this in the dark. The manager’s office was just behind the staircase, the open wooden slats hiding nothing.

 

He hovered at the top of the stairs, wondering if he should go down or wait. His indecision took just enough time for him to hear Dean open the creaky screen door the manager’s office and step inside.

 

“You here to pay up, boy?”

 

Sam didn’t move.

 

“Look, I don’t have enough to cover the room for another week. Can we work something out? I’ll help out around here or something?” Dean sounded hopeful.

 

The manager didn’t speak for nearly a full minute. Sam wondered if they moved deeper into the office and away from the door, but as he put one foot on the step below, he heard the manager say, “Maybe we can.”

 

The words were innocent enough, but the tone of his voice sounded more like he was suggesting Dean strip for quarters. Sam felt his stomach clench. Was this what Chronos meant? Did Dean get in a fight with the manager? No, no, it couldn’t be. It was a day early.

 

Sam stepped down to the third step and waited, ears straining to hear Dean’s response.

 

The manager continued before Dean could say anything. “You know I’d hate to have to call CPS and let them know two kids have been abandoned for three weeks now.”

 

Sam was surprised. Three weeks? He didn’t remember being in this town for that long. There were a lot of things he didn’t remember apparently. Obviously Dad wasn’t around right now, probably on a hunt, though Sam was never as interested in what Dad was doing all the time as Dean was.

 

“We’re not  _abandoned_ ,” Dean sneered. “My dad’s on a business trip, but he’ll be back soon.”

 

Dean’s voice got a notch more respectful, “I’ll do anything, okay?”

 

Sam heard the squeak of the manager’s chair as he pushed up to stand. “Anything, huh?”

 

“Don’t touch—“

 

“Keep quiet, boy.”

 

Sam had to bend down to hear. He couldn’t tell what was happening. He quietly moved down several steps until he could crouch down and peek through the open slats behind the stairs, seeing nearly everything in the manager’s office from above.

 

What he saw made him sick.

 

The manager gripped Dean’s cheeks with one meaty hand, pushing his lips out slightly while his index finger traced over Dean’s Cupid’s bow. Sam had no idea why Dean wasn’t laying this guy out. Even at sixteen he was strong enough to take someone like this guy on.

 

Then the manager spoke again and Sam felt like heaving up the contents of his stomach.

 

“Such pretty cocksucker lips, boy. Tell me, you ever sucked a man’s cock before?”

 

Dean started to shake his head with what limited movement he had, but the manager growled out, “Don’t you lie to me, kid.”

 

And Dean slowly nodded his head in the affirmative and Sam’s mouth dropped open with an audible click.

 

His eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets entirely when Dean sank to his knees with far more grace than Sam would have credited him for, and looked up at the manager. “Call it even?”

 

The manager’s shark-like grin widened as Dean reached his hands up to unbutton the man’s pants. “Yeah, yeah we can call it even, boy.” He reached around Dean’s head to slam the door closed.

 

Sam couldn’t breathe. Dean was doing this for them? So they could stay another week in this crap motel? Where was Dad? Why wasn’t there enough money?

 

His thoughts and questions went on and on in his head until he heard the door below him open. “And you won’t call CPS?” Dean’s voice was rough and he coughed to clear his throat. Sam felt ill to think why he would need to.

 

“Nah, you come back anytime though. Damn good on your knees, boy,” the man near wheezed. Sam peeked down in time to see Dean’s shoulders slumping a little as he tried to catch his breath.

 

“Uh-huh,” Dean managed to huff out. He straightened and left the office, pausing just beyond the stairs to where Sam could only see half of him. But he could hear Dean’s sigh, heavy and weary, as if he had the world on his shoulders.

 

In the present, Sam and Dean had faced down worse, dealt with more, but never alone and never anything like this. Sam wanted to go down and comfort Dean, pull him into a hug and tell him he didn’t have to do this. He doubted Dean would be too receptive of a hug from a stranger, but his brother was clearly dealing with all of this by himself and Sam had never known.

 

He was struck by a thought then. If Chronos hadn’t brought him here, he  _still_  wouldn’t know. Dean had never even alluded to something like this. Sam couldn’t count the number of times they’d been in a bar and a man would offer to buy Dean a drink or, if he was less polite, crudely remark on Dean’s lips/freckles/eyes, whatever.

 

Objectively, Sam knew his brother was good-looking, and he never thought much of those men. Dean always, always brushed them off sometimes with a joke or with a firm “not interested, buddy”. Sam never had any reason really to think that Dean was more familiar with the other possible end result of those interactions.

 

Here and now, Sam watched Dean from the shadows of the second floor, feeling torn (and vaguely creepy for watching). He stood fully and took a step down before he knew what he was doing. Dean started at the sound, wiping at his eyes and peering at the stairs, trying to see Sam’s face in the dark.

 

Dean moved to leave, clearly not recognizing Sam as the guy who’d been chasing him all over town, and Sam cleared his throat. “You okay, man?”

 

He probably shouldn’t have said anything, even though Chronos said it was okay. He still didn’t have a story to tell this Dean and he prayed Dean wouldn’t question him. Sam reached the bottom of the stairs, not wanting to tower over Dean any more than necessary by remaining on the steps.

 

This was the first time today he’d seen Dean up close. Even in the grocery store, he had tried to stay on the opposite ends of aisles and it was jarring to see this face again. He realized Dean hadn’t really hit his growth spurt yet either and he hovered somewhere over a full head below Sam. As familiar as Dean’s face was, his expression was wary and calculating and completely foreign to Sam. He’d never been on the receiving end of such a suspicious face from his brother. Which was saying something, considering everything he’d done.  

 

“Fine,” Dean replied shortly, edging backwards.

 

“You sure?” Stop talking, Sam. Don’t freak him out. “The manager giving you trouble?” Oh, for God’s sake. He needed to learn how to keep his mouth shut.

 

Right on cue, Dean’s eyes narrowed and Sam realized with alarm that his right hand was no longer visible, inching behind him and under his jacket. “Hey, it’s okay,” Sam held up his hands, placating. He wasn’t entirely sure how it would work for him in the present if Dean killed him here.

 

“Who are you?” Dean looked angry now and Sam cursed himself for spooking him.

 

“I’m a hunter,” Sam heard himself say. His improv skills were pretty good but he figured something closer to the truth would go over better with Dean. “You’re John Winchester’s kid, right?”

 

Dean relaxed marginally even though his hand was still worryingly out of view. He nodded.

 

“I, uh, know your dad. We’ve worked together on some hunts.” So far nothing he said was a lie, but he could tell Dean either didn’t care or didn’t believe him.

 

“Right. That’s nice for you.” Sam forgot what a sarcastic little shit Dean was as a kid.

 

Alright, time to finish up this conversation. Sam had a feeling he wasn’t going to get very far tonight. “I’m just stopping through town and thought I recognized you is all,” he shrugged, the picture of indifference.

 

“I’ve never seen you before, man.”

 

Instead of explaining that one, Sam shrugged again. “Well, I’m upstairs if you need anything.”

 

“I don’t.” And with that, Dean turned on his heel and walked back into the shadows towards his room.

 

As much as this Dean looked like the Dean that had taken care of him as a kid, this was a pricklier, sharper, angrier version of him, and frankly, it scared Sam a little. His Dean had been softer and kinder, ruffling his hair when he got an A on his math test, even though he  _hated_  when Dean did that. His Dean bought Captain Crunch and walked him to school and threatened the bullies on his behalf. He couldn’t piece the two Deans together and it was messing with his head.

 

Sam turned the opposite direction and opened the door to the office. The manager was sitting back in his chair, still watching TV. If Sam hadn’t witnessed it firsthand, he almost wouldn’t believe anything had just happened. The man sat in the same position and gave Sam the same disinterested look as when he had signed in.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

Sam wanted to grab the guy and punch his lights out. Beat and bruise and slam into him with all the righteous anger he felt boiling under his skin. How dare this man touch his brother? His beautiful, strong brother. But what he said was, “My key doesn’t work.” Then he threw the key down onto the counter with more force than probably necessary. He could barely look at the man.

 

He picked up the key with a raised eyebrow at Sam and held it up. “Sorry, wrong one. Here.” He ran his hand down the row of hanging keys and offered it to Sam. “Should work now.”

 

Sam didn’t thank him, just grabbed the key and slammed the door behind him.

 

When he got to his room, he let himself in and flopped onto the bed. He had less than a day until it happened, whatever it was. He still didn’t know and now, given what all he’d just seen, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. But he needed to. His mind whirled around in circles until early in the morning hours.

 

When he opened his eyes again, the sun was uncomfortably bright in his eyes and he was shocked to see he’d slept for nearly ten hours. Time travel and uncovering shocking family secrets were exhausting activities apparently.

 

He had a vague notion of it being Friday, which meant kid-him and Dean were at school. Probably. Who knew about Dean actually, but it was early afternoon so they might be coming back to the room soon.

 

His stomach gave an unhappy rumble and he remembered he hadn’t eaten since... well, 2012. Sam peeled a banana and wolfed it down in a few bites. He peeled a second one and tried to eat slower. He needed to find something to do until tonight. If he sat in this room, a mere twenty yards from the man that  _raped_  his brother last night, he’d probably go crazy and burn the entire place down.

 

And yes, it was rape. His mind was finally, albeit slowly, catching on to that fact after the shock had worn off. Dean was sixteen years old, and just barely at that. No matter how willingly he appeared sliding down onto his knees last night, he couldn’t consent. It was wrong in so many ways and Sam could feel his skin prickle with rage again. He needed to get out of here.

 

A long walk around town eventually landed him in the very small public library. He found comfort in the familiar smell of books, the sight of a librarian in her cardigan, and the sound of hushed voices. However, he found a respectable section on time travel and he settled in to do a little light reading.

 

He must have dozed off in his corner chair when the sound of footsteps woke him. Whoever it was stood on the other side of the stacks across from Sam. And he tried valiantly to keep his jaw from dropping open when the kid rounded the corner.

 

It was him. Seventeen years ago, but it was him. Kid-him gave him a curious look, but didn’t say anything, brushing his hair out of his eyes. That part was like looking in a mirror. It was undoubtedly the strangest thing that had ever happened to him. And this was in a long and storied career of  _strange things_.

 

“Sammy!” someone called loudly from somewhere to their right.

 

Sam nearly responded at the call, but refrained at the last second by biting his lip so hard he was sure he was drawing blood. Kid-him, however, rolled his eyes at no one in particular and hissed, “Dean, we’re in a library! Don’t yell.” Sam could see where kid-him was missing a couple of teeth and where another was growing in. It was all so bizarre. He knew that Dean pulled all of those teeth for him. The one that was growing in had been thanks to Dean tying a string around it and then to a door before slamming it shut. He’d pressed a wet tissue to Sam’s bleeding gums afterward and shushed him kindly. Sam got lost in the memories for so long, he didn’t realize kid-him had left. By the time he put away his books on the theories of time travel and made it to the front of the library, he and his brother were gone. The clock above the checkout desk read 6:15.

 

Unfortunately, Sam could not remember when exactly everything was supposed to take place that night. It was late, but not so late that Sam had panicked. It was after dinner, he guessed, but before he went to sleep. He just couldn’t remember.

 

Walking back to the motel took longer than he estimated because he turned left instead of right on one of the streets and didn’t make it back to his room until after seven. Luckily for the manager, he wasn’t in his office when Sam jogged up the stairs and got into his room.

 

He had a couple of hours by his own guess before  _it_  happened. He paced the length of the room for a while before turning on the television. He stopped on the cartoon  _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_  wondering if he was watching the same thing downstairs in Room 7 right now. He always liked this show. The antics of Leonardo and Michelangelo and the others made him smile, and he imagined eleven-year-old Sam just a few rooms away entranced by the Turtles as they fought the bad guys and won.

 

Sam curled his lip a little at the last Raphael he and his brother had dealt with, a decidedly less friendly one. Memories occupied him to the point he didn’t hear the careful open and close of a door on the other end of the motel.

 

He made himself a peanut butter sandwich and ate another banana as he watched TV for a while. He flipped through a couple of channels before finding a special report on the O.J. Simpson case, and shook his head. “Come on, dude. You know he did it,” he muttered at the news anchor giving a recitation of Simpson’s football achievements.

 

All at once, Sam was struck with an idea he couldn’t believe hadn’t occurred to him before. He wiped his hands of peanut butter smudges and crumbs before folding his hands on his lap and closed his eyes.

 

“Cas? Castiel? This is Sam Winchester. I know you don’t know me yet, but you will. You’ll know me and my brother Dean really well in a few years. In fact, you’re gonna...” he trailed off for a moment, unsure how much he should reveal. If Cas was even listening. He cleared his throat and continued. “Well, it doesn’t matter right now, but you’re gonna be close to my brother later and right here and now, he needs your help.”

 

Sam opened one eye and glanced around the room. Nothing. He closed his eye again and continued, “It’s a long story but something bad is going to happen to Dean tonight. I don’t know what it is yet, and I really need you to watch over him. Please? Castiel?”

Sam opened his eyes, not really expecting someone but hoping all the same. Still nothing. He couldn’t even hear the rustle of feathers that always accompanied Cas’ arrivals. He knew Jimmy Novak was probably in high school or maybe even college right now, so if Cas showed, it would be in a different vessel, though he let himself chuckle over the thought of teenage Jimmy. It’d be weird to see him in anything but Cas’ usual outfit. Maybe he was wearing band tees and baggy jeans right now and sitting in lectures on film theory before realizing he wanted to be an accountant.

 

He sat quietly on the bed, eyes darting around at the slightest sound, and waited patiently. The minutes dragged out and he sighed. It had been wishful thinking anyway. The way he understood it, angels hadn’t interfered in human affairs for millennia. Until they stormed Hell for Dean, that is. That was years away still and he couldn’t help feel the curl of disappointment around his heart that it didn’t work.

 

He got up and opened the door, poking his head out to listen for any sounds that Dean had left yet. Sam couldn’t hear anything beyond the incessant chirping of katydids. He closed the door and leaned against it. The clock next to the bed said it was almost nine and he figured he had enough time to grab a quick shower, fully intending to follow Dean to wherever he was going and stop it.

 

Chronos said, of course, that he couldn’t stop it, but he sure as hell was going to try.

 

Sam had just stepped out of the shower, wrapping a too small towel around his waist when he heard the sound of gravel being kicked up by someone shuffling his feet. Damn it, he was going to miss Dean.

 

He threw on his jeans and shirt, missing a couple of buttons in his hurry, and didn’t bother tying his boots. He stuck his gun the back of his waistband and rushed out the door. Sam made it halfway down the stairs before he came to an abrupt halt at the sound of someone retching.

 

Oh God, no. He stumbled down the rest of the stairs, swinging around the hand rail just in time to see Dean straighten up while gripping one of the splintery wooden columns that held up Sam’s floor. Dean wiped his mouth and tried to stand at his full height, but the movement was too painful for him and he grabbed his ribs with one arm and collapsed with a sharp cry. His other arm shot out to catch his fall and he dry heaved over the concrete.

 

Sam ran over to him, whispering over and over, “No, no, no.” He crashed onto his knees next to Dean, reaching out to cup his hand around the back of his neck. “Dean? Dean!”

 

Under his hand, he could feel Dean shuddering and trying to pull away. “Don’t you touch me, you son of a bitch,” he rasped, pushing at Sam’s elbow. Then he looked up into Sam’s eyes and Sam couldn’t breathe. “Who are you?”

 

Dean had blood crusted under his nose and it looked like it might be broken. Sam could see in the moonlight his lip was split and still bleeding, probably torn open again from retching. The way Dean was clutching his side made Sam think he was holding broken ribs. The rest of Dean was covered up, but as Sam looked him over, he saw something fluttering on the ground out of the corner of his eye. He reached out and picked it up.

 

It was a fifty dollar bill.

 

“Dean? Hey! Dean!” Dean’s eyes looked unfocused and Sam was terrified. He could be going into shock, and who knew what other injuries he was hiding under that leather jacket.

 

“Get off me, man,” Dean wheezed out. “I’m fine, I’m fine! Get off.”

 

“You’re not fine, come on.” Sam tried to be as delicate as possible in wrapping an arm around Dean’s hips and standing him up. “I know, I know,” he soothed when Dean groaned. He didn’t know. He had no idea.

 

“Seriously, who are you, dude?” Even in pain, Dean was still obnoxious.

 

“I told you yesterday, I’m a hunter. My name’s S—“ he swallowed the ‘am’ that threatened to come out. “My name’s Steve.”

 

He hoisted Dean up as best he could, mindful of hidden injuries. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

It took them several long minutes to climb the stairs, with Dean absolutely not tolerating any suggestion that Sam carry him. Sam opened his door and got Dean inside, letting him gingerly situate himself on the bed. In the light of the room, he looked... well, he looked like someone beat him to hell.

 

“Christo.”

 

“What? Did you just ‘Christo’ me?” Sam bit back a laugh. “I told you I’m a hunter, man.”

 

Dean made an awkward movement that looked like an aborted shrug. “One more,” he groaned as he leaned down to pull something out of his boot. A silver knife.

 

Sam nodded and took it from him, rolling up his sleeve and making a straight neat line on the inside of his arm. “Okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” Dean replied. He leaned back until he was prone on the bed. “Hey, how’d you know my name?”

 

“Um,” Sam stumbled on his way to the bathroom. “Your dad told me. Dean and Sam, right?”

 

“Right, right,” Dean sighed. He sat up quickly and grimaced at the strain, “You can’t tell my dad!”

 

“Easy, Dean, easy! It’s okay,” Sam held out his hands like he was calming a spooked horse. “I won’t tell him. But Dean, what is this? What happened, huh?”

 

“Doesn’t matter. Just needed the money, okay?” Dean lay back down, putting an end to that line of questioning. Speaking of which, though.

 

Sam pulled out the money from his pocket and sat on the bed. He kept enough space between him and Dean, and kept his voice soft. “This money? You dropped it outside. Hate for you lose it after all that.”

 

Dean snatched it out of his hand and shoved it into his jeans pocket. “It’s none of your business.”

 

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. When Chronos told him something was going to happen, he never imagined it would be his broken and bleeding brother lying on a bed while the eleven-year-old version of him was just downstairs and completely, blissfully unaware.

 

“Okay, Dean. Look, let me take a look at you and help you get cleaned up. Is that okay?”

 

Dean stared at him for a moment before nodding in agreement. He slipped out of the leather jacket as he sat up, wincing and trying to hide it. Once Sam was positive he wasn’t going to dash away when his back was turned, he went to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water.

 

When he got back into the room, Dean was working his shirt off with small hurt sounds. Sam sucked in a breath through his teeth and tried to keep his anger down. There was a bruise already forming over Dean’s ribs in the vague shape of a boot. Sam wanted to kill the son of a bitch.

 

He sat beside Dean, trying to not jostle the bed too much. “Here, let me.” He gently wiped the blood from Dean’s face, cupping his cheek as he dabbed at his lip, which thankfully wasn’t bleeding any more.

 

Dean kept his eyes closed the entire time, but Sam could see the single tear making its way out of the corner of his eye. “Let me go get some ice, Dean. Put it on that side. I’ll be right back.”

 

The ice was just a good excuse. Yeah, he needed ice, but he needed some fresh air, too. Sam had seen his brother thrown around by every type of monster and he wasn’t a stranger to Dean’s blood. But this was different. A human had done this. 

 

He filled the ice bucket he’d grabbed on his way out and took the steps back up two at a time. His breath caught in his throat when he opened the door and the bed was empty. “Dean?”

 

“Yeah, just a sec,” his voice drifted out from the bathroom from behind the door.

 

“Yeah, course, take your time, man. I got the ice.” Sam looked around for something to wrap the ice in and finally settled on the pillowcase from the second pillow on his bed. He dumped about half the ice in it and twisted it shut.

 

The bathroom door opened and Dean came out, trying hard to hide a limp. His face looked a little better, still bruised but no longer bloody. Sam gently pressed the ice to Dean’s ribs when he came closer. “Keep that on there for a bit. You okay?”

 

Sam almost laughed. What a ridiculous question. Of course Dean wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. This. This was not okay.

 

But Dean nodded anyway, hissing a little at the cold of the ice. He sat on the bed again, head bowed and taking shallow breaths so as not to aggravate his ribs.

 

Sam didn’t know what to say, what to do. He sat next to Dean and sent out a silent prayer to Castiel, asking for help, healing, anything, but he never came. Sam was startled when Dean started mumbling. He leaned a little closer to hear him better.

 

“I just didn’t know he’d be so rough, I guess. It was stupid. Should have been better prepared.”

 

Sam nodded. He didn’t want to hear this.

 

Dean continued, not looking at Sam. “Thought it’d be easier. Nothing to it, right?” Sam wasn’t sure Dean was even aware he was still in the room and listening to this. “So stupid,” he muttered. “I didn’t like him when I saw him. But he offered...” he trailed off. Sam realized he had two fifty-dollar bills clutched in his free hand, one crumpled from his pocket.

 

 _Jesus Christ, Dean_ , Sam thought. He couldn’t be angry at Dean though. His brother was a victim, hurting and confused. And so alone. He understood Dean’s terror, not telling Dad. Even Sam wasn’t sure what Dad would have done. Eleven-year-old him was even more ill equipped to deal with this. Dean could have called Bobby or Pastor Jim, or even Caleb, but he couldn’t say he would have done that if it had been him.

 

“It’s gonna be okay, Dean,” Sam whispered, and he laid a soft hand on Dean’s shoulder. A tear fell down his own cheek when Dean let the bills flutter to the ground and he reached up to tangle his fingers with Sam’s with a bruising grip.

 

They sat like that until Dean’s ice melted and Sam replaced it with the rest of the ice. Dean lay curled on his uninjured side as he held the fresh ice to his ribs. Sam held his free hand, brushing his thumb over Dean’s freckled fingers. They didn’t say anything else. There was nothing left to say.

 

Nearly an hour had gone by when Dean sat up suddenly and squeezed Sam’s hand. “Thanks, Steve. I gotta get going though. My brother, he’s waiting for me.”

 

“Sure, Dean.”

 

He tucked the bills into the jacket and helped Dean slide it on. He was surprised by the hug, Dean’s arms wrapped tight around him. Sam rested his chin on Dean’s head, and brushed a kiss across his short-cropped hair. “You’re gonna be okay, Dean.”

 

They untangled from each other, Dean straightening and smoothing his features out. Sam could see him building his armor back up, piece by piece. He opened the door and shivered a little at the night air. Dean stepped through the doorway and Sam grabbed his arm. “Dean.”

 

Dean raised his eyebrow, mask firmly in place now.

 

“Be careful, Dean. Don’t do that anymore. Promise me, man. Please? Promise me,” Sam pleaded.  _Please let this be the last time. I won’t be there next time._

 

Dean’s mask slipped just a little. “I do what I gotta do, Steve. But thanks,” he gestured toward himself. “Thanks for everything.”

 

And with that he limped down the stairs and Sam felt his heart break.

 

He waited until he heard the door at the other end of the motel open and close before he shut his door. When he turned around, Chronos was there and reaching for him.

 

Vertigo and another pounding headache as he landed in an alley. This one he recognized. He saw it twenty-four hours ago.

 

He made his way back to the motel in a daze. Seventeen years Dean kept this all a secret. How had he done it? It would have driven Sam insane. He tapped at the door and it swung open. Dean wrapped him in a hug and was saying something in Sam’s ear, but Sam didn’t hear. He looked around the room and saw stacks of books and papers everywhere. Of course Dean had been trying to find him.

 

Dean was running his hands over Sam, looking for injuries. Sam caught his hands and held them between his own, ignoring Dean’s quirked eyebrow. He needed to say this.

 

“Dean, he sent me back to 1995. March 1995.”

 

He waited for that to sink in, unsure how else to explain it. He knew when it had. Dean pulled away and sank down on the bed, avoiding Sam’s eyes.

 

“March 1995, huh?” Dean held his hands in front of him, wringing them. Sam knelt in front of him and closed his hands over Dean’s.

 

“That was you, wasn’t it? That night at the motel,” Dean whispered. He shuddered a little, rocking forward and resting his elbows on his thighs, hands still caught between Sam’s.

 

Sam leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Dean’s. His big brother. His incredible, strong, sacrificing big brother. “Yeah, it was me. It was me, Dean.”

 

They sat like that for hours, breathing in each other and trying to repair old wounds. 

**Author's Note:**

> cross posted on my tumblr - [theabaddons](http://theabaddons.tumblr.com)


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